


The Room Where It Happens

by Liara_90



Category: RWBY
Genre: Canon Compliant, Diplomacy, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Future Fic, Hamilton References, Inspired by Music, Musical References, One Shot, POV Third Person, Porn With Plot, Secret Relationship, Some Plot, Song Lyrics, Table Sex, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 01:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12422454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/pseuds/Liara_90
Summary: Future AU. A decade after the Fall of Beacon, Weiss Schnee is a Councilor of the Kingdom of Atlas, and Blake Belladonna the Exalted Khan of the White Fang. During a diplomatic conference, the two leaders ask to be given the room.Because the best diplomacy always happens behind closed doors.





	The Room Where It Happens

**Author's Note:**

> _My God!_
> 
>  
> 
> _In God we trust_
> 
> _But we’ll never really know what got discussed_
> 
>   _Click-boom then it happened_
> 
> _And no one else was in the room where it happened_  
>  “[The Room Where It Happened](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_vIjtHjoXhE)”, _Hamilton: An American Musical_

* * *

VACUO IMPERIAL HOTEL AND RESIDENCES

KINGDOM OF VACUO

It was easy to underestimate how many hours went into arranging a simple boardroom.

Weiss Schnee - best-versed in the arcane arts of floristry and place setting - was probably the only one in a room packed with negotiators who fully appreciated every detail that had gone into their "impromptu” meeting. The nameplates were printed on acid-free bond paper that cost more than their weight in gold, derived from trees that had lived for centuries in the most beatific corners of Vacuo. A certified calligraphist had embossed each plate in flourishing cursive, the plates themselves set around the table with a ruler to ensure perfect parallels. A protocol officer from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had confirmed that the seating arrangement would not sleight any of the delegates, while a team of maintenance workers had slaved through the night to polish the marble floor to a reflective sheen.

The only fault Weiss could find - taking her seat at the head of one end of the table - was with the flowers. Belladonna lilies: the pink a shade too pale for the décor, placed in a vase of Atlesian blown glass that was a half-inch too tall. Even with her back perfectly straight the flowers obstructed Weiss' eye line, half-veiling the woman opposite her with their petals.

Which perhaps was just as well, given how much they were batting eyes at each other. Because they were apparently coquettish schoolgirls and not the leaders of some of Remnant's most powerful political factions.

"...If the Schnee Dust Company is unwilling to open the strategic Dust reserve, and in the absence of an arbitration clause, Menagerie will have no choice but to..."

Weiss raised a cup to her lips - Chavái Islands brew, fresh from Mistral - watching as the woman opposite her did the same, except with a cup of rose oolong in lieu of coffee.

There was a moment's lull in the conversation. Blake's eyes, a piercing amber, swiveled to hers, barely visible over the bouquet between them. They'd lost none of their intensity over the years, though a few more lines of weariness were now etched beneath them...

...Weiss distantly realized that she was apparently expected to be saying something....

Winter leaned in, her chair scraping against the floor as she did. "And if you insist on referring to it as the Schnee Dust Company, Mr. Tabaqui, instead of the _Atlas Imperial_ Dust Company, then I will have to accuse you of living in the past."

Tabaqui leaned back in his chair, batting away Winter's correction. "And I know that a leopard can’t change its spots. It's still controlled by the Schnees, isn't it?"

Blake broke eye contact, her head swiveling a few degrees to track the verbal exchange. Weiss took advantage of the opportunity to compose herself, retrieving a fountain pen to give her subconscious something to occupy itself with.

"The difference, sir, is non-trivial," Weiss spoke (on her cue, this time.) The ice in her tone came naturally, from a lifetime of control. "The Schnee Dust Company was a private corporation owned wholly by one private citizen, accountable not even to shareholders. The Imperial Dust Company is a crown corporation controlled by the Council of Atlas, run by public officials elected by democratic vote."

She exhaled through her nostrils, the only trace of emotion she allowed. In her peripheral vision she caught Winter's sideways glance, reading her mood, anticipating her tactics. A near-invisible wave from Weiss signaled Winter to hold back.

Tabaqui, however, wasn't buying it. "We have long memories on Menagerie, Schnee," he said, his voice close to a growl. "Don't think that we'll forget the injustices your family afflicted upon us just because you slapped on a new name." Weiss opened her mouth to speak, but Tabaqui barreled ahead, his volume rising with each syllable. "It's the same shit you've always tried. Exile us. Exploit us. Extort us. Except now we have the lien to shape market forces, which you just _can't stand_. So what do you try to do? Renege on your contracts, _break your word_. Throw us into an economic crisis _right before_ the election." He slammed his fist on the table, causing those oh-so-elegant nameplates to skitter about. "It's unlawful interference, and I won't _stand_ for it."

He rose to his feet, prompting Winter and a half-dozen other delegates to do the same. Blake and Weiss remained seated, locking eyes momentarily to confirm their mutual surprise at the escalation. Tabaqui’s fists were clenched, the taut muscles of a former miner suddenly burgeoning beneath his shirtsleeves. Winter's stance shifting unthinkingly in response, standing as if ready to draw the sword not presently at her side.

Tabaqui carried on, heedless. “Just because the two of you shared a _room_ years ago does _not_ make a Schnee trustworthy!”

The silence that descended was deafening.

For most, it was considered a piece of historical trivia - and not a meaningful psychological insight - that Weiss Schnee and Blake Belladonna had been on the same team at Beacon Academy. It was treated instead as the kind of curiosity one raised to spruce up a dull dinner - ' _did you know that the leader of Atlas and the leader of the White Fang were_ roommates _at Beacon?_ The response to which was usually something along the lines of ' _huh, that_ is _weird._ ', followed by a shrug and a pivot to more engaging topics. There was simply no more information about those months to go on, at least not in the public record.

It was an easy mistake to make. Their time together at Beacon _had_ been short - _artificially_ short, thanks to the machinations of powers then so beyond their comprehension. Destiny had conspired to keep them apart, two lines moving in parallel. They'd chosen the knight pieces so long ago, on that fateful day in the Emerald Forest, but Weiss couldn't help but wonder if they were better suited to bishops. One black and one white, but on different-colored tiles, crossing paths without ever quite intersecting...

The interests of both Atlas and Menagerie conspired to suppress the history of their time together, of their shared lessons and struggles. Neither Schnee nor Belladonna stood to benefit from being too closely associated with their opposite across the seas. Blake's re-structuring of the White Fang, to say nothing of Weiss' wholesale reformation of Atlesian society, had given them their fair share of enemies on their flanks, accusers who saw them as sellouts and traitors, as weak and foolish.

The question _had_ come up, once or twice, though in every instance a curt dismissal had been enough:

· _Yes,_ they'd been on the same Team at Beacon

· _Yes_ , on Team RWBY, lead by Ruby Rose

· _No_ , the _other_ Team RWBY ~~dumbass~~

· _No_ , they hadn't been particularly close

· _No_ , there was no reason that habitually putting your life in someone’s hands would cause _anyone_ to develop an implicit sense of trust

(That last one was mostly internal).

"Alright, _hah_ , why don't we take five?" Sun Wukong said, speaking for the first time since the meeting began. His nameplate had tactfully described him as 'Personal Assistant for Security Issues to the Exalted Khan of the White Fang', which was a diplomatically loquacious way of stating that he was Blake's bodyguard. And he interpreted his job description to rather liberally include protecting his charge from emotional outbursts.

Tabaqui focused his attention on Blake, who remained seated passively, staring into the shimmer of her tea. "My Khan, if you can't see how this is simply a perpetuation of the same Schnee _tyranny_ that has gone on for generations-"

-He moved to place a hand on Blake's shoulder, to force her attention onto him. But a glittering gold clone was suddenly beside him, trapping his wrist in its hand. Tabaqui and Sun locked eyes, barely-bridled anger meeting _just-try-me_ determination.

"Perhaps Mister Wukong's suggestion is a wise one," Winter said, as soon as it was clear that Tabaqui and Sun were not going to come to blows _literally_ right that minute. "I believe there are some refreshments in the south foyer."

Sun's clone dissipated into nothingness, allowing Tabaqui's arm to drop limply to his side. Sun inclined his head a matter of degrees. "Hear that, everyone? Free food! _I_ for one never turn that down." The jest in his voice was a touch too forced, but there were vague gestures of agreement all around.

Blake nodded, though her gaze was still distant. "I propose we reconvene at two. Does the delegation from Atlas have any objections?"

"None," Weiss answered, breathing a small sigh of relief. They'd been exchanging increasingly-caustic remarks since practically sunrise, and she was exhausted, body and soul.

"Alright, grub run," declared Sun, flashing two thumbs up. "Shall we?" he asked, bowing low to bring his head close to Blake's.

Weiss watched, transfixed, as Blake shook her head, a few ink-black hairs floating briefly in the air.

"I'd like a moment alone with Miss Schnee," Blake said, her tone matching Weiss at her best for iciness.

"Uh..."

"Weiss?"

Weiss turned to her sister, who'd caught the snippet of conversation, too. "I'll be fine," she said in assurance, before turning to the members of the Atlesian delegation she wasn't related to by blood. "If you would give us the room, please."

Winter and Tabaqui both looked skeptical at the decisions of their respective leaders, but both deferred in the absence of any signs of wavering. A few aides scurried about, collecting loose papers and wayward pens, before the delegations shuffled out in a heterogeneous blob of Atlesians and Menagerians.

Only when the door slammed shut did Weiss exhale, her shoulders drooping, her hands pressing against the lacquered table.

"Rough day, Ice Queen?"

The words caused Weiss' head to snap upright. Blake was strolling towards her at a leisurely pace, grinning smugly to herself as she appropriated an old nickname. She was dressed informally (by diplomatic norms), a snug jacket of black leather atop tan cargo pants. That she had until recently been leading an insurrection from the badlands of Menagerie was impossible to forget.

"Nobody calls me that anymore," Weiss said, straightening herself upright.

"Not to your _face_ , certainly," Blake replied, still wearing that self-satisfied smirk.

She pulled to a stop before Weiss. For a moment they just stood there, wallowing in uncertainty.

And then they were embracing.

"I prefer the other names you called me," whispered Weiss, speaking into Blake's collarbone.

" _Heiress_?" Blake asked in reply, even as Weiss' hairs tickled her nostrils. One hand unthinkingly wrapped around Weiss' waist, the other finding the nape of her neck, draped in hair.

Weiss let out a snort of mock offense, straightening slightly. "I meant the pretty ones. _Snowflake..._ and _ice fairy_ and... and..."

"...And _crystal_ and _diamond_ and _my princess_ ," Blake finished for her. She pressed a gentle kiss to Weiss' forehead. "I remember them all."

Weiss chuckled slightly. "Of course you do. You came up with all of them."

"It's not my fault I was the more creative of us."

"You never let _me_ come up with pet names."

Blake snorted. "Because you kept calling them _pet_ names."

They separated by a few inches, the memory of a ancient argument filling their minds.

"I'm sorry for that," Weiss finally said, the teasing lilt vanishing from her voice.

Blake shook her head. "I know you didn't mean it _that_ way."

Weiss' cheek tugged upwards. "Well, now that you're all _old_ and _wizened_ , sure."

Blake shot her an empty glower. "You're not exactly a nubile maiden yourself anymore."

Now it was Weiss' turn for mock offense, placing a palm on Blake's chest to create space between them.

"You _wound_ me, Exalted Khan. Though no more than your _charming_ Mr. Tabaqui back there."

Blake let out a weary sigh. "Yes... he's... a handful..." she conceded, pinching her nose as she did. Weiss took a few more tentative steps away from Blake, though never leaving her arm's length. "He think he's playing the bad cop."

"Of course."

"Though he very earnestly believes what he's saying. He's just a bit of a showman."

Weiss nodded, rubbing one arm as she did. "So it's true, then. Your government really thinks the Schnees are trying to squeeze Menagerie."

Several different ways of phrasing the next sentence raced through Blake's mind, though she went with the most honest one. " _Yes_ ," she answered, some seconds later. "At least, a sizable number of Faunus do."

"And you?"

" _You_ what?"

Weiss _tsked_. "What do _you_ believe, Blake Belladonna?"

Blake's expression was as unreadable as a slab of granite. "I'm not sure what to believe, Weiss. The timing is _incredibly_ suspicious, and we are not in the habit of giving Atlas the benefit of the doubt."

"I understand," Weiss said, somberly. But then she straightened up, finding the iron from deep within. "But that is _not_ what is happening."

There was no suspicious in Blake's eyes, but a penetrating scrutiny. "Truly?"

"Truly," Weiss declared. " _Look_ ," her voice reverted to a more conversational tone. "When we signed that agreement it was with the understanding that the Dust would be coming from the Kopfgeld field."

"A field which has proven reserves more than twice what your surveyors anticipated."

Weiss tilted her head slightly, distantly wondering how exactly Blake had come across that morsel of intel. "Yes."

"So what's the problem? And don't keep saying it's the Grimm."

"It's not the Grimm," Weiss confirmed. "It's... the environment."

One painstakingly-pencilled eyebrow rose along Blake's brow. "The _environment_."

"Yes. Members of my environmental council have told me that the current extraction plan risks contaminating much of the Polær Sea."

Now it was Blake's turn to tilt her head. "I wasn't aware that you _had_ an environmental council."

"I don't," Weiss said. "At least... not _officially_."

Blake exhaled through her nose for a good five seconds.

"Is it _that_ politically toxic to be an environmentalist?"

Weiss scoffed. "In _Atlas_? Blake Belladonna, your _naiveté_ is showing." Blake scowled, but said nothing, giving Weiss the time to slip back to a serious tone. "My father's company may be no more, but do you have any idea how many shameless opportunists sprung up to fill the vacuum? I'm not a Khan, Blake, my position is dependent on some measure of buy-in from the aristocracy. If word gets out that I'm stalling billion-lien development projects for something as frivolous as _arctic marine life_..."

Blake didn't need Weiss to finish the sentence. A sense of weariness suddenly permeated her.

"So?" she finally asked.

"So _what_?"

"So what's your plan?"

"What makes you think I have a plan?"

Blake let out a bemused snort. "You've been over-preparing for everything since our first quiz in Beacon. And you certainly didn't _stumble_ into ruling the Kingdom of Atlas."

Weiss blushed a little. "I had a lot of help."

"We all did. And you haven't answered my question."

" _Drat_." Weiss fidgeted nervously for a few seconds, looking like a student caught in a lie by her professor. "It's mostly improvisational," Weiss confessed with a sigh. "We _think_ that with a few, inexpensive changes to the development plan, we can avert _most_ of the ecological hazards. I need a few weeks for some surveyors and their Huntsmen escorts to confirm the geology, though."

Blake remained silent, and Weiss pressed on. "If they're _right_ , I'll convince the sub-contractor to amend the plan. I'll say it's to boost Atlas' image in the lead-up to the Vytal Festival. They won't _like_ it, but I - or rather, the _Kingdom_ \- will make it up to them somewhere else."

Blake nodded. "...And if they're _wrong_?"

The weariness in Weiss' eyes told her that the possibility had already been contemplated. _Dwelt on_ , even. "Then we're back to square one. Do we develop the Dust mines and uphold our contract with Menagerie, or do we keep a pristine ecosystem from being destroyed." She shrugged. "I really don't know, Blake."

A hand rested on her shoulder, firm and reassuring. "We'll figure it out, then," Blake promised, her voice resolute. "I swear."

A small smile crept across Weiss' face. "Thank you, Blake," she said, her words heartfelt and true. Then she laughed a little. "It was easier when all we had to do was fight monsters, wasn't it?"

"Fighting is easy, Weiss..." Blake agreed “... _governing’s_ harder.” Her hand fell from Weiss' shoulder, but found slender fingers a second later. "Though now we'll probably live a little longer, at least."

"Speak for yourself," Weiss muttered, with gallows humor.

Blake's fingers continued to play across Weiss' knuckles. "It's a crazy world we live in, isn't it? Having to keep secrets from your own negotiators. That we needed to set up this whole conference in neutral Vacuo just so _you_ could tell _me_ that in our five minutes alone."

"Well..." something guilty flashed across Weiss' face "...not _just_ to tell you that."

" _Oh_?" Blake asked, unable to keep a mischievous note from slipping in. "What else could you _possibly_ want to tell me, Weiss Schnee?" she teased.

"Don't be cruel," Weiss sulked, pressing closer against Blake. The pout didn't last. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Blake breathed, her voice barely a whisper in Weiss' ear.

"What did you miss?" Weiss asked, leaning into Blake's chest as fingers combed her hair.

"I missed your friendship," Blake began somberly, feeling Weiss nestle deeper into her. "I missed your honesty. Your desire to change the world." She paused. "I missed listening to you sing. Your music. The recordings... aren't the same."

"You have my recordings?" Weiss asked, smilingly slightly. "I didn't take you for a fan. Do you want an autograph?"

Blake blushed, despite her stoicism. "Sometimes... when I get lonely, and no one else is around... I put them on. Just to have your voice in my bedroom."

Weiss had no intention of letting a lonely memory cloud their time together. Which left only one option: _brutal teasing_. "So you like listening to my voice in the bedroom?" she began, detaching slightly to better catch Blake's eye. "Just... _listening_?"

"What else would I be doing?" Blake asked, a textbook evasion if there ever was one.

"Thinking back to what we used to do in those private performances... _after_..."

A lifetime of deception couldn’t conceal the way Blake reddened at those words. “That was only a few times.”

“Enough to be memorable, I hope?” asked Weiss. She so _rarely_ had gotten the upper hand on Blake when it had come to matters of sex and arousal. She was damn well determined she was going to enjoy herself now.

“Well yeah definitely you were gorgeous,” stammered Blake in a hurry.

Weiss drew close to Blake with a twirl, a gaiety in her step she hadn’t felt in many months. She let Blake’s hands fall to their familiar rests on her hips, revelling in the feeling of _being held_.

“I wish I could show you again,” she murmured, her voice a sonorous purr.

“Why… _why can’t you_ ,” Blake half-asked, half-moaned, as Weiss’ lips found bare collarbone. A trail of kisses soon followed, a leisurely stroll along the oh-so-sensitive expanse of her throat.

“Because…” her voice a whisper, “ _you might have the place bugged_.”

Blake suppressed a pang of fear, fear of being accused by _Weiss_.

“We didn’t bug this room,” Blake promised, managing to keep her composure even as Weiss’ hands slipped around her sides.

“But it crossed your mind,” Weiss countered, albeit without any anger in the accusation.

Another groan pass Blake’s lips. “Of course. But it crossed yours, too.”

“ _Mm_ ,” Weiss agreed, removing her mouth from Blake’s skin with abject unhurriedness. “Guilty as charged,” she answered, coyly. “But espionage is the due diligence of diplomacy, is it not?”

“You couldn’t get past their security either, could you?”

Weiss let out a genuine scowl. “For a hotel, their counter-intelligence measures are _truly_ commendable.”

“ _So_ ,” Blake refocused her attention at the task/woman at hand. “Now that you’re convinced the room isn’t bugged?”

“Oh, I know the _room_ isn’t,” Weiss stated, “but what do I know about _you_ , Khan Belladonna? Is there a wire sewn into that bespoke leather jacket of yours?”

“A _wire_? Weiss don’t be ab-” Blake caught herself mid-sentence, seeing the playful glimmer in Weiss’ eyes.

“Take it off,” Weiss instructed, her tone soft but unyielding. _Silk hiding steel_ , as the hackneyed phrase went.

Blake undid the clasps on the front of her jacket with tantalizing deliberation. Then with a careless gesture she cast it aside, revealing muscled arms peaking out of a simple white top. “Your turn.”

“ _Me?_ You’d accuse a _Councilor of Atlas_ of some cheap _tabloid_ trick _?_ ” The surprise was genuine, but the offense was not.

“Yes,” Blake growled. “We know better than to trust a Schnee.”

“I see you mix your talking points with your roleplay,” Weiss teased, even as she tossed her own business jacket aside, exposing bare shoulders and a dress just a _touch_ too tight to be unassailably ‘ _modest_ ’. “Do I have to worry about the White Fang villain who’s going to steal me away, make me her prisoner, have her way with me?”

Blake tilted her head a little. When they’d first started ~~fucking like only horny teenagers could~~ _making love_ , they’d gone through the obligatory ‘roleplay’ phase. Surprisingly, ‘ _damsel in distress_ ’ was a fantasy of _neither_. “No. But you _do_ have to lose the dress.”

Weiss _tsked_. “Then I expect to see abdominals, Belladonna.”

Blake almost missed the show in her hurry to undress. Her camisole was over her head when Weiss began unzipping, their clothing falling to the floor is unintended harmony.

“What, no bra?” Weiss teased , standing unashamedly before the Khan. She had on only a pair of black panties and a matching set of stilettos. When they’d first start dating, Weiss had still had an instinctive aversion to nudity, a sense of _shame_ internalized in her youth. Now she was unreserved entirely, neither flaunting nor concealing, simply completely comfortable.

 _The years had changed them both_.

“...My top has a shelf bra,” Blake explained, belatedly. “ _Et tu_?”

“In _that_ dress?” Weiss asked, staring at the sheath now pooled at her feet. “ _Maidens_ no.”

Blake grinned, and in a flurry of motion made her way to Weiss, scooping the Councilor up and swinging her around so she was abutting the conference table.

Their little game was forgotten as they began kissing, lips finding lips, _taking_ and _giving_. Blake’s frame had only grown over the years, defining biceps and shoulders, adding a _weight_ to her motions that simply hadn’t been there before. The effect only made Weiss feel more gracile than ever, all soft skin and manicured nails. Her fingers unthinkingly trailed across those toned abs, eliciting a shudder from Blake.

“ _Oh_ , sorry, I didn’t mean to hit it,” Weiss apologized, realizing that she’d traced a nail right along Blake’s scar.

“It’s fine,” Blake murmured back, eyelids drifting open. “It’s just… _sensitive_. Above and below.”

“I’ll be careful,” Weiss promised, wrapping her arms around Blake’s neck. Her lover’s hands drifted around the backs of her thighs, lifting her over the lip of the table with one smooth motion. Her buttocks suddenly pressed against ancient oak, Weiss let out a girlish giggle, drawing Blake in for another round of kisses.

Blake’s hands ran up and down Weiss’ thighs, a pleasurable _rub_ that left a warmth in its wake. “We’ve never done it on a table before,” Blake said, as if musing aloud to herself.

“When _could_ we have? At _Beacon_? We shared one desk between the four of us.”

“True,” Blake conceded. She gently lowered herself before the table, until her lips with level with Weiss’ thighs. “Could always have borrowed a classroom.”

“Oh, _Maidens_ , please don’t tell me that’s something people actually-” Blake’s expression, equal parts mournful and mirthful, was confirmation enough. “I’m better off not knowing.”

“Agreed.” Blake’s lips ran from Weiss knee _up_ , until she found her mark. Weiss let out a deep shudder at the feel of Blake’s breath alone, having worked herself up into an agitated state long ago. She reclined on her elbows, her neck lolling backwards.

“I’ve missed this,” Blake murmured, in equal parts to Weiss and herself. Her mouth found Weiss’ vulva, her nose prickling slightly at the brush of tiny hairs against it. There was no warm-up period this time.

“ _Mmrfff_.” (That was intended to have been a witty comeback, but the feel of lips on labia derailed Weiss’ train-of-thought).

Like most of their sex, the positioning was more awkward that either of them wanted to admit. The height differential did neither of them any favors, the table too high for Blake to kneel before and too low to comfortably bend over. She ended up half-squatting, before the tension in her legs caused her to wobble, at which point she simply grabbed Weiss’ thighs in both hands and _slid_ the Councilor backwards.

There was an impossibly-loud _squeak_ as sweat-soaked skin slid along a surface, followed by a distant _clattering_ of miscellaneous tableware falling to the floor.

Both women ignored the commotion.

Blake slid herself forward until her stomach was mostly flat along the tabletop, her mouth growing greedy now that their positions were more manageable. Her knees buckled and her heart pounded, her sinister left hand returning to her own crotch. Blake’s pants were belted and too tight to slip a hand into, but rubbing against the fabric was more than enough to get herself echoing Weiss’ heavy breaths. The Councilor’s legs rested inelegantly over her shoulders, meeting in a sloppy heart.

Weiss’ breaths were ragged and raw, containing not a trace of the aristocrat she’d been born as. She arched her back in unthinking accommodation, maximizing the pressure against Blake’s face. Her own fingers neatly complimented the efforts of Blake’s tongue, rubbing practiced circles with the expertise of far too many _unladylike_ nights alone.

“Glad there aren’t any cameras, aren’t we?” Blake asked, taking a moment’s respite from her labors. Weiss’s own handiwork slowed in sync, maintaining pressure but moving only glacially. She was flat on her back, spread across the table like the cover model for some office-themed _men’s entertainment_ magazine. The soft and warm lights of the room blurred in her eyes.

“ _Right_ ,” breathed Weiss, as Blake wiped her own mouth with the back of her hand. “That’d be _horrible_.”

Weiss wasn’t normally one for elaborate fantasizing during sex - she’d understood that to be (generally) more a male thing anyways - but as Blake resumed her ministrations, Weiss felt her mind _drift_.

 _What if there_ was _a hidden camera, and they awoke tomorrow to see their lovemaking splashed across the tabloids of Remnant?_

_“Leaders of Menagerie in Atlas… in Love?”_

How impossible was it, really? They were still young. They had decades ahead of them. A generation to raise in an era of peace and mutual understanding. A million minds to convince, a million hearts to win. It could well be the endeavor of a lifetime, an effort worthy of the gods themselves.

If that’s how long she needed to wait, to _work_ , then Weiss would. Maidens knew stranger things were possible.

She came suddenly, abruptly, her voice cracking in a cry. Blake had long since learned to read Weiss like an open book (like one of her harlequin romances, to be precise), and eased off immediately, brow flush with sweat. A small puddle of liquid had trickled onto the table, which Blake hurried to wipe with her forearm.

“I missed this too, Blake,” Weiss finally said, once her breaths had resumed their usual rhythm. She pulled herself upright with a _groan_ , drawing her legs back off of Blake so that her knees could tuck close to her chest. It was a surreal position to be in, or it would have been, had she had the presence of mind to ponder such things. “Now how about you get up here?”

Blake let out something suspiciously close to a whimper. “Not that I really, really, _really_ don’t want to take you up on that,” Blake began. Then she reached into the pocket of her pants and whipped out her Scroll. “But I received eleven messages in the past ten minutes, and I’m guessing you’ve got even more.” The look on Weiss’ face confirmed that that was more than likely. “And don’t worry, I enjoyed myself plenty.”

Weiss smiled a little at that, then wiped her face with her hand. “Next time, then?”

“Next time,” Blake promised, both knowing that that was an unknowable time away.

Blake offered a hand to help Weiss off the table, a needless gesture that Weiss appreciated all the same. The two women took a moment to survey the wake of their lovemaking, like generals before a blood-soaked battlefield.

"As _titillatingly_ romantic as these covert rendezvous are, we _really_ can't keep meeting like this," Weiss bemoaned, picking her dress off of the floor, from beneath an overturned chair. "There are only so many diplomatic conferences we can both plausibly attend."

"Agreed," said Blake, retrieving her camisole from the soil of a potted plant. "Sooner or later, we're going to bring about peace on Remnant. And _then_ what'll our excuse be?"

"What a horrible thought," Weiss replied, her tone dry.

They finished attiring in silence. Blake's outfit, the far more casual of the two, could be shrugged on without much concern for tears and wrinkles. Weiss' costume, however, was made of far more fragile fabrics, to her quiet dismay. At least she'd managed to avoid any obvious hickeys, because _that_ would have been a week's fodder for the presses.

"Zip me up?" Weiss asked, turning her back to Blake. She gathered her hair behind her head, draping it over a shoulder so as not to obstruct the zipper.

Blake relished and dreaded the final excuse for intimacy, in equal measure. She took her sweet damn time, that was for sure, two sets of ears savoring the sound of a hundred little teeth being slid together in a soft _whirring_ noise. Her fingers paused as the zipper was tugged to the top: the opportunity of a bared nape was not to be passed, she told herself.

Weiss let out a soft _moan_ at the feel of Blake’s lips, letting her hair fall from her hands. Blake had her way for a few more moments, before detaching with the utmost reluctance. The Khan’s hands pulled snow-white hair back behind Weiss, committing its silken feel to memory.

"Well, we should probably look like we were just having an extremely heated argument," Weiss said, flicking specks of invisible lint from the jacket she’d retrieved from the floor.

"The first part of that is easy enough," Blake said, with a wry grin. "Anything noteworthy on your horizons?"

"The usual never-ending parade of meetings and ceremonies." Weiss tucked a wayward hair into place. "Oh, there's a symposium on inter-kingdom security in Vale that I was thinking of attending."

"The Clermont Conference?"

"That's the one."

Blake's eyes narrowed. "I already accepted an invitation to be the keynote speaker."

Weiss' face was the picture of innocence. "Really?" she blinked, eyes cherubic. "I hadn't heard."

The saccharine expression melted Blake's scowl. "Perhaps we'll have some mutual agenda to discuss."

"Perhaps we will," Weiss agreed, straightening the last of the chairs. "I should warn you I can be _extremely_ passionate in arguing for my positions."

"Dear maidens," Blake 'gasped', her tone flat. "I wouldn't want to get into a public shouting match with a Councilor of Atlas. Perhaps we should endeavor keep the meetings… _intimate_. No one likes to see how the sausage gets made...”

“...It’s the ugly art of the trade,” Weiss lamented. “And why I’ve found it most productive to keep negotiations in the dark, for the most part.”

"A position we share. How extraordinary." Blake could keep the amusement from her voice, but not from her smile. One hand came to rest on a door handle of polished bronze.

The presence of the threshold seemed to draw them back to reality. “Three weeks, you said?”

Weiss nodded. “I can push them to get it done in two.”

Blake’s feline ears flickered softly in acknowledgment. “I’ll get you the time.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” murmured Weiss, bowing her head gently. “The Kingdom of Atlas thanks you for your understanding.”

“And the citizens of Menagerie treasure the goodwill between our people,” replied Blake, tongue-in-cheek.

Weiss smiled. “It must be _horrible_ to be a historian, never knowing how the parties got to _yes_.”

“Speak for yourself,” Blake replied. “I’m making sure _my_ memoirs are a best-seller.”

Weiss shot her a noxious glare, before Blake’s smile confirmed a teasing intent. The Councilor shook her head. “We _would_ get more students studying history,” she muttered, a little darkly.

Blake snorted softly, before gesturing to the door. "Councilor Schnee."

"Exalted Khan."

The previously-closed door was opened, and the show resumed.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are life, comments are love. Just a quick note saying you liked something can brighten my day. Detailed reviews are the fuel of my soul. Also feel free to hit me up on [Tumblr](http://pvoberstein.tumblr.com/) or on reddit (as [/u/pvoberstein](https://www.reddit.com/user/pvoberstein/)).
> 
> So I didn’t initially _intend_ for this work to be inspired by _The Room Where It Happens_ \- one of the many, _many_ gems of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s _Hamilton_ \- but after the first draft I was casting about for a title (as usual) and _Hamilton_ provided. Going back, I realized that quite a few of the lyrics could be applicable, and made a few modifications to accommodate. It’s possible I also just got the song stuck in my head while editing.
> 
> I won’t bloat this page with my rambling thoughts about Monochrome, but suffice it to say that it’s taken me an embarrassingly long time to write a fic for one of the most popular ships in the FNDM ~~and no[ _The Crown of Atlas_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4669829) doesn’t fucking count~~. I also needed a palette cleanser after a disaster of a drabble I publicly exhibited. Hopefully you enjoyed my depiction of Weiss and Blake, but if there’s anything you think could have been improved, please don’t hesitate to provide critical feedback.
> 
> [Your Obedient Servant](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjzw5BvMULA),
> 
> Liara


End file.
